


And There Are No Words For That

by torakowalski



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: First Time, M/M, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-06
Updated: 2012-04-06
Packaged: 2017-11-03 03:44:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/376816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/torakowalski/pseuds/torakowalski
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If this is what the middle of the night is usually like, Clint is prepared to visit it way more often.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And There Are No Words For That

Clint doesn’t know what wakes him, just that he’s sound asleep one minute and wide awake the next. It’s early dawn, blue-white light filtering through the blinds that the last tenant left behind and Clint hasn’t had time to replace with curtains yet.

There are gentle snores from the person lying behind him but Clint’s brain has kind of frozen up and it’s screaming at him that if he turns around, there’ll be nobody there.

(One of the fire-eaters at Carson’s told Clint the story about the Greek dude that that happened to and apparently it’s stuck with him.)

He stares at the wall and tries to slow his breathing, go back to sleep.

A hand lands on Clint’s hip, squeezing tightly and a face presses into his back, cold nose and slack lips on the bare skin between his shoulder blades. 

Clint is seriously having some kind of tightly controlled heart attack here. He picks the hand off his hip and cautiously squeezes it with his own. 

The hand squeezes back.

“Hey,” Clint says roughly, totally undermining his own attempt at cool with the way he can’t stop stroking his thumb across smooth knuckles.

There’s no response, just a loud breath that’s almost, but not quite a snore. Clint smiles involuntarily and the stupidly strong punch of affection that hits him in the gut is enough to get him to roll over, tucking their joined hands into the space between them.

Phil mumbles something in his sleep and presses his face into what’s usually Clint’s spare pillow. His hair is messed up on top and his back is a smooth line of pale skin stretched over tight muscles and a scarily vulnerable spine.

Clint is regretting the need to blink right now; he doesn’t want to miss a second of this picture. Carefully, he reaches out and draws his finger in a circle around the top bump of Phil’s backbone. 

Phil doesn’t wake up, which is weird considering Clint once saw him sit bolt upright when a piece of lint blew across the van they were holed up in and brushed across his cheek.

“Hey,” Clint says again, softer this time. There’s a thick, swelling feeling in his chest that he has no idea what to do with. 

He’s spent the last three years embarrassingly, obviously, into Phil but he never thought they’d get here, which isn’t self-depreciation – he knew Phil was kind of interested – but he’d thought it would take a lot of more than ‘kind of’ to get him to break all of SHIELD’s fraternisation regs.

Since this is most likely his one time they do this, Clint decides he’s going to make the most of it. He runs a hand slowly up and down Phil’s back, only stopping when he reaches the dip in his lower back where the sheets pool, because groping a guy in his sleep feels kind of skeevy.

Phil turns his head on the pillow, lips parting a little. Clint thinks it over for about five seconds and then decides that kissing is probably okay. He busses their lips together, lingering a bit accidentally when Phil kisses back, slow and shallow.

Clint’s never been kissed by someone in their sleep before; it’s pretty cool. 

He shifts closer and slides an arm under Phil’s shoulders, getting comfortable because it’s way too early to be awake.

Phil rolls over, leaning into him and fitting against Clint’s side. He’s warm and a bit sweaty, chest hair silky against Clint’s ribs.

This is not Clint’s life. He doesn’t have sex with people after haphazardly courting them for three years and he definitely doesn’t spend the rest of the night holding them. He’s never even _wanted_ that kind of life. He’s not denying that this is pretty damn nice, however.

“Barton,” Phil rumbles, lifting his head and looking up at Clint. His expression does something strange, going soft at the edges. “Clint. Why are you awake?”

“Got distracted watching you,” Clint says, putting a flippant little spin on it even though that is one hundred per cent the reason.

Phil smiles, a barely-there, sardonic little curl of his mouth. 

“I’m sure,” he says and shifts upward, putting his head on Clint’s pillow so they’re level, Clint’s arm falling to his waist and curling around just because.

Phil reaches down and finds the end of the comforter, twitching it up over both of them with one smooth move. Clint smirks but doesn’t feel like teasing him for his constant, unrelenting efficiency.

Phil’s ability to get shit done in the minimum number of moves had been seriously useful (and hella sexy) last night.

“Go back to sleep,” Phil tells him firmly. Then kisses him on the mouth. Clint is getting mixed messages here.

“Make me,” he suggests when Phil’s finished mapping Clint’s top teeth with his tongue.

“I could put you in a sleeper hold?” Phil offers, hand bracketing the back of Clint’s neck, thumb brushing his pulse point.

“Kinky,” Clint says, raising an eyebrow. He slides fingers into Phil’s short hair and tugs, pleased when Phil lets his head tip back into Clint’s hand.

“Shh,” Phil tells him and they kiss some more, getting heavier with each pass of their tongues.

Clint drops his free hand down to Phil’s waist then lower, curving around one asscheek now that Phil is awake to tell him to get the fuck off if he wants to. 

It turns out that he doesn’t want to.

There’s a lot more kissing after that and then some rocking, the sticky hard press of their cocks coming together and then Phil’s low, satisfied groan in his ear. If this is what the middle of the night is usually like, Clint is prepared to visit it way more often.

“What time do you have to leave in the morning?” Clint asks after because this is Phil, who always needs to be somewhere, and Clint isn’t about to kid himself that a couple rounds of mind-blowing sex are going to change that.

Phil settles back down against Clint’s side, like that brief sex interlude never happened. “Tomorrow’s Sunday, Clint,” he says, like that’s a whole answer. Then, “We’re going to sleep until noon and I’ll take you to breakfast after.”

Clint blinks. “Okay,” he manages not to say _We are?_ _You will?_ because that’d sound way too needy and Clint Barton has all the confidence. Sometimes. Sort of.

Phil presses the fingers of one hand to Clint’s mouth, hushing him. They’re damp and smell like sex and Clint’s stomach tightens. He’s already thinking about round three, only now he’s picturing it happening after pancakes rather than crammed into one hurried night. That’s something he’s going to have to rearrange his whole worldview to cope with.

He’s more than okay with that.

“Good night,” he says, muffled and Phil relents, lifting his hand and kissing Clint’s temple, a soft, affectionate sigh ruffling Clint’s hair. 

_Huh_ , Clint thinks, opening his thighs and letting Phil slip a knee between them as they settle back to sleep; maybe Phil is more than kind of interested, after all.

/end

**Author's Note:**

> Title and inspiration from Brian Andreas: 
> 
> "I wish I had a thousand words for love, but all that comes to mind is the way you move against me while you sleep & there are no words for that."

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [And There Are No Words For That [Podfic]](https://archiveofourown.org/works/379400) by [Fleur Rochard (fleurrochard)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/fleurrochard/pseuds/Fleur%20Rochard)




End file.
